My 15-year-old son is at a rock concert tonight ... oh my.
Linkin Park, the band Jeffery boldly proclaims is the "Best Band Ever," is playing in the nearest big city. His father and I offer up lists of other bands and performers we might put on the list ahead of Linkin Park -- The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, CCR, Springsteen, Warren Zevon, Elvis Costello, REO Speedwagon (this one is my husband's) -- and Jeffery just laughs at us and our oldness and lameness.
Jeffery's friend's dad offered to take the boys to the concert. I took a deep breath and said yes.
It's not that I don't trust his friend -- this boy has been coming around our house since 4th grade and he's one of my favorites. And his dad is a good, dependable guy.
I'm just a worry-prone freak.
I didn't attend my first rock concert (Adam Ant and the Romantics, for all you 1980s rejects out there) until well into my college years. And I don't really think I grew a working brain until about 25.
So I worry that my baby is out late on a school night, in a place where people might (you know they might) be smoking pot or drinking al-key-hall. And I worry he might make a bad decision.
I worry that he'll go to the bathroom by himself and somebody will snatch him (don't tell me it would be hard to snatch a 6 foot tall, 200 pounder -- reality rarely cuts my worry). I worry that somebody won't like the way he looks (he will give off too much of the straight A student or too much of the semi-jock for some punk or freak's taste) and will be beat up, or cut, or shot.
I gotta quit watching so much television.
Anyway, I will go to bed at the usual time, in preparation for my 5:30 a.m. workday start. But I doubt I will sleep until I hear the garage door open and my son, my baby, my first born, slam the door to his bedroom.
Then, and only then, will I stop worrying.
At least until tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Oh My God, You are My Soul Mate
My husband and I have been together for about 23 years and we have entered that stage of our relationship where our compatability is based on shared parenting responsibilities, home-ownering, elderly parent taking care of-ing and just getting through the days unscathed-ing.
I love my husband. But I never thought of him as my soul mate. We are too different. We are interested in different things; we have different outlooks on life and humanity (mine considerably more optimistic than his); I like Chinese food -- he does not.
Still, I was happy and satisfied to have a lover, friend, husband, father for my children -- albeit one who occasionally drove me crazy with his inability to see the humor in Spaceballs or the beauty in Elvis Costello music.
One thing that particularly drove me nuts about my husband was his sympathetic illnesses. Whenever I was laid low by a cold, flu, infection of any kind, amazingly enough my husband came down ill at the same time. I secretly suspected he became ill to avoid being saddled with the responsibility -- if even for only a day -- of fetching or creating supper, doing laundry, supervising homework. He denies this -- but I still had my suspicions.
This week I was laid low by an upper respiratory infection, necessitating a trip to the doctor, a very frustrating hour-long phone call to the health insurance company and missing some work. My husband is on temporary duty out of state, so imagine my surprise when he called, sicker than a dog. He actually became sick without knowing that I was sick.
I was flabergasted. This, I believe, is proof that despite our differing tastes and interests, he truly is my soul mate -- so much so that when I am ill he DOES become ill, even if we are not in the same state to share germs. We are not just your run-of-the-mill, hopelessly-devoted-to-you, we-both-love-spaghetti, he-will-rub-my-feet-and-paint-my-toenails soul mates. We are such souly soul mates that our health, our fiber, our very being is inexplicably tied together. I sneeze and he wipes his nose.
Does this mean that we are going to be one of those couples that die within hours of each other, their love for one another is so great? Perhaps... but i'm thinking it will probably be him following me out of this worldly plane. If he goes first, I want to stick around for at least a short while, eating Chinese food for supper every night, watching Spaceballs and listening to Elvis Costello.
I love my husband. But I never thought of him as my soul mate. We are too different. We are interested in different things; we have different outlooks on life and humanity (mine considerably more optimistic than his); I like Chinese food -- he does not.
Still, I was happy and satisfied to have a lover, friend, husband, father for my children -- albeit one who occasionally drove me crazy with his inability to see the humor in Spaceballs or the beauty in Elvis Costello music.
One thing that particularly drove me nuts about my husband was his sympathetic illnesses. Whenever I was laid low by a cold, flu, infection of any kind, amazingly enough my husband came down ill at the same time. I secretly suspected he became ill to avoid being saddled with the responsibility -- if even for only a day -- of fetching or creating supper, doing laundry, supervising homework. He denies this -- but I still had my suspicions.
This week I was laid low by an upper respiratory infection, necessitating a trip to the doctor, a very frustrating hour-long phone call to the health insurance company and missing some work. My husband is on temporary duty out of state, so imagine my surprise when he called, sicker than a dog. He actually became sick without knowing that I was sick.
I was flabergasted. This, I believe, is proof that despite our differing tastes and interests, he truly is my soul mate -- so much so that when I am ill he DOES become ill, even if we are not in the same state to share germs. We are not just your run-of-the-mill, hopelessly-devoted-to-you, we-both-love-spaghetti, he-will-rub-my-feet-and-paint-my-toenails soul mates. We are such souly soul mates that our health, our fiber, our very being is inexplicably tied together. I sneeze and he wipes his nose.
Does this mean that we are going to be one of those couples that die within hours of each other, their love for one another is so great? Perhaps... but i'm thinking it will probably be him following me out of this worldly plane. If he goes first, I want to stick around for at least a short while, eating Chinese food for supper every night, watching Spaceballs and listening to Elvis Costello.
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